


Mother Magic and the Chamber of Secrets

by Peony (Pivinne), Pivinne



Series: Mother Magic [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Hermione Granger, Bad Albus Dumbledore, Dumbledore Bashing, F/F, F/M, Good Draco Malfoy, M/M, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Master of Death Harry Potter, Powerful Harry Potter, Ravenclaw Harry Potter, Ravenclaw Hermione Granger, Slow Burn, Smart Harry Potter, Soulmate AU, Super slow burn like they’re way too young rn, Weasley Bashing, but like, not all weasleys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2020-06-02 18:18:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19446952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pivinne/pseuds/Peony, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pivinne/pseuds/Pivinne
Summary: A dark secret lurks under the school. An old book with a bloody past. Harry must choose how to toe the line between enemy and friend, how to balance schoolyard politics with Slytherin morality.And with the petrified bodies stacking up, it’s getting harder and harder to do so.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Book two! I’m very excited for the future of this series, and thankful for all of your patience while I took a little hiatus for exams!
> 
> We have a discord server so get in touch!
> 
> -> https://discord.gg/M73bNYr

_ Heavy lidded eyes barely conceal the green glow of anger, pale skin stretches at the mouth, plump pink lips turned upwards at the edges. _

_ “My friend Tom,” he starts, kicking the prisoner who had begun to struggle to stand back onto the dirty floor, “he says that traitors should be delivered death. He says they don’t deserve to live- that they should be culled like the filthy animals they are.” The air hummed and shimmered with faint silver vibrations, the prisoner didn’t dare to move, held in his shaking, shallow breaths. “Tom’s kinder than I am in this way. Death is a reprieve that comes to all of us. Well, most of us. Traitors don’t deserve death. Death is a mercy. Don’t you agree Montague?” Montague didn’t reply, his body only shook with the cold and the starvation and the fear. Harry raised his wand hand “I must tell the truth,” the scars on the back said. “Oh you do? Perfect. We’ll start now then- are you ready? CRUCIO!” _

\--

The summer night air was thick and suffocating. Harry sat up, heart pounding and he fumbled around for his glasses. The dream was fading fast, but he could feel the dust in the air, smell the mildew and rust settling deep into the brickwork. It had been like this for weeks now. Ever since he had settled into Peverell house he dreamed horrible truths and catastrophic events. Murder, torture, love, grief. At first he had thought they were premonitions of the future, unchangeable consequences of things he had already done. But… that wasn’t quite right. They revolve around this Tom. Someone he didn’t think he knew, but in some he killed this person, in some they were friends- lovers even. Maybe they were all just possible futures? Other universes? 

Harry slipped the crisp white covers off, and padded softly over to the large ornate windows of his new bedroom. And that was something in itself wasn’t it? His, and only his. To live in, to maintain, to own. A plot of land, untraceable, where he can do anything he wanted. The freedom was tangible and daunting. 

There was a dark figure in the garden. 

Harry studied him intently, as the cloaked being, possibly man, possibly not, weaved intricate patterns around the rosebushes. He couldn’t be certain but the roses bloomed a little bigger, a little more vibrantly than before. Whenever Harry had asked Death why this was Death simply smiled. He’d say, one day over breakfast, that it was because there was an innate balance to everything. Because what is Death without Life? 

The figure turned and waved at Harry. Harry waved back, turning from the window to see if he could get any more sleep. The dreams always seemed to shake him, he felt guilt settle coldly in his stomach after every one, even if he couldn’t even remember exactly what he had done to feel this way. Sleep, it seemed, was unobtainable tonight, and the thought of slipping back into that dank cellar, to hit and torture and maim sat wrongly on his conscience, so he watched the first rays of sun slip over the horizon. Pink and orange streaming over deep blue and ash grey. His stomach rumbled, was it already breakfast time? Harry rubbed his eyes, pulling off the thin summer sheets to grab a day robe. This one was a light blue, green vines with flowers blooming over and over on the hem and cuffs. Magic was still finding ways to surprise him. The dining room of Peverall house was large and opulent, with tall vaulted ceilings and polished wood floors. The windows had stained glass depictions of three brothers, one with a wand, one with a stone, and one with a cloak. This room was far too big to eat dinner alone in, but Ouroboros needed the space these days. He had grown massively over the summer, with all the mice and rabbits in the forests surrounding the building. There’s a popping noise to his left as Harry sits down at the head of the table, one of the Peverall house elves, Haner, has arrived to give him the post, and his blue journal. The post today was bigger than the usual bank statements and report on investments the goblins had made on his behalf. Harry thumbed through the sepia parchment until he came to an odd note sealed with the Hogwarts crest. Having already received his book list for his second year, whatever this was Harry knew it was unofficial. 

“The bumbling bee is at it again I see,” Death mused, materialising on the chair to Harry’s right. He seemed to be holding a tall champagne flute of amber liquid, something the young ravenclaw hadn’t seen before, but he didn’t bother questioning it. Death was always odd, nothing he did ever made sense. He’d still yet to explain why at Peverall house he could traverse as he pleased, where Lady Magic couldn’t. Harry hummed a small note of agreement, taking in the emerald letters as he waved a series of spells over the parchment. As subtle as Dumbledore was, and these were subtle charms, the thick magic of Harry’s home, and his own heavy suspicion of the grandfatherly character made them quite useless. He’d really need heavy use of the imperius to get Harry under his control. 

_ Dear Harry, _

_ I am writing to you because it has come to my attention that your whereabouts are currently unknown. Imagine my shock and upset, when your loving aunt sends me a letter in tears, finding that you had not come home from King’s Cross as you were supposed to. I dearly hope that you are safe, and that your childish exploits of running off end soon. We’re all very worried about your safety, you are a very public figure in the wizarding world, and many people wish to do you harm. Inside this envelope is a portkey, say the words “Magic is Might” and you will be transported to Hogwarts, where I will return you to your doting relatives post haste. _

_ Hoping you return soon, _

_ Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, _

_ Order of Merlin (first class), Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot _

Harry laughed at the audacity of this wizard. The ridiculous stories he was trying to spin, the nerve to be involved in things that weren’t his business, his obnoxious use of titles. 

“He really is trying his hardest isn’t he? Even Weasley could probably see right through this if he ever met Aunt Petunia.” Death summoned the letter over to give it a quick read through, before snorting in the most undignified way the destroyer of worlds could. 

“I’m almost impressed with his delusions of grandeur, but I cannot say any of this is surprising. Have you spoken to Magic today?” Harry shook his head, stroking the soft leather of his journal tenderly.

“I haven’t yet, but I fear something is wrong. She looks almost sickly, is it possible for you entities to become ill?” Death’s pale face became rather serious for a moment.

“Only in the most dire of circumstances.” He said gravely, running a long finger over the rim of his glass. “Entities get energy from the aspects we control. Time, Life and I are the most powerful on that alone, because Time is unending, Life is plentiful and Death is inevitable. But..” He sighed, wondering whether the burdens of the universe were ever fit to fall on the shoulders of someone so young. “Magic is.. Different. She uses the controlled native magic to sustain herself and wixen populations are dwindling. Especially here in Great Britain. With all the recent wars and pureblood ideology, Magic is weaker than ever. It’s why we had to choose a vessel. You.” 

“Me?” 

“Yes. Someone with great integrity, to bestow our gifts upon. Intelligence, wit, power, morality. We cannot upset the scales, I cannot touch the true mortal plane, none of us can without great consequence.”

“Like Time and the time turners. Destiny and the daughters of Delphi. You and Dementors.” Death nodded slowly, looking towards the door as Ouroboros came slithering in, along with an elf carrying the breakfast tray. Delicious plates of scrambled egg and bacon, sausages and fried tomatoes, and a large pot of tea.

_ “Speaker! The rats are getting quicker and smarter when trying to escape me, the chase is far more fun- are you going to join me one night?” _

_ “I doubt it Ouro,”  _ Harry replied easily, relishing the ease at which he spoke the serpent’s tongue. _ “Humans aren’t meant to catch and eat rats like you are. I guess we’re just broken like that.” _

_ “A shame. We serpents are clearly just superior to you silly two leggers. That’s why you wouldn’t be half as successful without someone like me.”  _ Harry nodded eagerly, sipping on his tea and relaxing back into the plush chair. It was darjeeling this morning and it was delightful.

After enough breakfast to hit the spot of a growing boy, Harry returned to the library, an enormous set of rooms with rows upon rows of books in every language. Mathematics in arabic and greek, italian philosophy, parselmagic, mermish, the language of the dead. In fact, Harry was wondering whether the Peveralls had a fascination with the dead or not. Death seemed amused whenever he’d try to research the question, but there was still so many unanswered questions that Harry couldn’t narrow it down. Were they necromancers? Vessels? Alchemists before Flamel, keen to discover the philosopher’s stone and secure immortality? The pale boy runs a hand through his thick burgundy curls, grabbing a quill to write a scathing reply to Dumbledore’s missive. He was not a puppet- or an idiot, and he refused to be treated as such.

_ Headmaster Dumbledore,  _

_ It is with regret that I shall not be returning to my relatives this summer, or any other summers in the foreseeable future. I’m sure that they are as happy with this arrangement as I am, as I can sleep in a bed and eat when I wish, without locks on my doors as bars on my windows. As I’m sure you are aware, the Potters had a grand estate, and many other branches on the continent and in the americas. My new magical guardian, Magnus Mortei Potter has been more than willing to step up and look after me, and continue my magical studies in the summer, and any other holidays I wish to return home for. I no longer see my residence at the Dursleys as home, and I hope you understand my wish for privacy in this family matter. After all, according to the Hogwarts charter, Section 9 Subsection 3B on Line 4, ‘The Headmaster of Hogwarts has no responsibility over any magical student that has another suitable magical guardian.’  _

_ Hoping you have a wonderful summer, _

_ Harry Potter _

_ Heir apparent to most noble and ancient houses of Potter and Black. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some interesting revelations, and a strange book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Don't forget to give kudos and hey! Join our Discord server! 
> 
> \--> https://discord.gg/hc6XZrN

It seemed that no matter how hot the summer got, the grounds of Peverell house would always remain green. The beautiful water gardens, full of idyllic ponds with large fish were Harry’s favourite place to read, lounging in the shade of an Elder tree with soft cushions underneath him and a picnic basket if he felt peckish. It’s in this spot that the owl finds him. It’s a large short eared owl with speckled brown feathers, and it looks at him sharply, as it lands on the tree, dropping a letter onto his lap. 

_ Harry, _

_ Tomorrow myself, the Patil twins, Thorverton and Longbottom, along with a few of my Slytherin chums are meeting in Diagon alley outside Fortescue’s to do our school shopping. We’d all love for you to meet us there, as none of us have any idea where you are at all. Longbottom said that his grandmother had heard that Dumbledore was very concerned that he couldn’t find you. Hah! As if it’s any of the old coot’s business anyway- you’re Harry bloody Potter you can look after yourself- but you’re safe right? Of course you are. _

_ Anyway, we’ll be meeting at noon, so just send a reply with Servos (that’s my owl) so we know you’re coming.  _

_ Your friend, _

_ Draco Lucius Malfoy _

_ Heir Malfoy, scion Black.  _

“Haner!” Harry called out, waiting patiently for the quiet pop noting his faithful elf’s arrival. 

“Master Peverell be’s wanting Haner sir?”

“Yes, could you bring me my writing set and some parchment? I have a quick letter to write.”

_ Draco, _

_ Thank you for your invitation, I’ll join you tomorrow at noon, but I may be a little late as I’ll have to head to Gringotts undetected. My guardian, Magnus Potter will be joining me for a short part but he should leave fairly soon unless he finds  a reason to stay. Dumbledore is awfully annoying- he’s sent me a letter demanding I return to my muggles- isn’t that ridiculous? If you’d like, I’d love for you to visit Peverell House sometime next week, the library here is massive but there’s no one to play quidditch with. _

_ Your friend, _

_ Harry James Potter _

_ Heir Potter, Heir Black _

The young boy, just turned twelve, rolled up his parchment and conjured a blue ribbon to tie around it. It was almost funny how Ravenclaw house had given him such affection for the colour, but he had found a sweet sense of belonging in it; friends, a family that he could choose to love and cherish as much as he did Magic and now Death. 

He whistled, and Servos flew down to rest on his leg. 

“Fly safe and Godspeed, Servos,” he said, tying the ribbon around the bird’s leg. As he flew off, Harry packed up his things and headed inside. He wanted to get a lesson from death before he left to do… whatever he did when he wasn’t exploring the house or annoying Harry.

\---

“Can you teach me about Death magic?” He said, finding Death in the attic. There were several dusty suits of armour, and more than a few crates and chests that Harry didn’t open for fear that they were cursed. The Peverells were feared before their line died out, and he was sure that any curses on them were designed for lethality. Death let out a rattling sigh at his request, knowing that the day would come eventually, but still unsure whether he should proceed.

“I could. But you are not ready to know Death Magic. The things of my realm are vengeful and dangerous. Unless you can speak the language of the dead, it is not worth pursuing at your power level. Yes, you are strong, but it is not strong enough.” Harry sat on the floor, looking up at his new mentor and possible friend. He seemed taller and thinner today, with high cheekbones and gaunt, sunken cheeks. 

“Can you teach me the language of the dead?”

“It will be difficult- you cannot be born with it like Parseltongue, you cannot learn it like french or greek.”

“Teach it to me anyway, I would like to know.” Death raised his hand and a book dropped from nothing into his hand. It was an old, slim book, with tall wavy lines for script.

“The original death speakers, the Peverells, were intermarried with Slytherin’s line several times. Through this many of them gained the ability to speak Parseltongue, and your ancestor, Ignotus Peverell developed Parselscript. A written version only those with the gift could read. It was the best way to preserve their secrets for only the most trusted, as, of course, serpents cannot lie, so neither can you in parseltongue.” The book’s pages were yellowed and thin, Harry could almost see the shape of his hand through the other side of the page, but without focussing too hard, the strange cursive turned into clear English, and the scripture suddenly became clear.

_ “April 1st 1246, _

_ Dear Cadmus passed away last week, I believe it was the same call of death that took away Antioch, and calls to me still. Sometimes I feel like I understand what the whispers say to me, but I cannot say it back. It’s much like doublespeak, like what a mighty basilisk would sound like to a normal man. Is this the language of Death?” _

_ September 22nd 1247, _

_ I have used the stone just once in my life after Cadmus bequeathed it to me. An apparition of him appeared before me and spoke to me with rattling gasps and growling tongues. I have revised an alphabet of it, though I am not sure how this will translate into those without a grasp of parseltongue. I shall make this a Peverell family secret, bound by magic and available only to those of my kin and their kin, so mote it be. _

_ July 12th, 1256 _

_ My son has grown and can speak Deathspeak like he was born to. Perhaps it is the influence of the cloak and stone that lead to this, perhaps the influence of death has improved his ability to grasp it as I cannot. As much as I can understand him I cannot reply back in kind- perhaps I am simply too old to have picked up a language as odd as this? They say one has to be born a parselmouth to be a parselmouth- and that much is true, the Slytherins and Peverells shared an ancestor many years ago, the first serpent tongue. I feel like I should consult Cadmus again, but after what happened with him and his wife…” _

Harry blinked as the handwriting changed from one passage to the next. It seemed another Peverell had taken over use of the journal.

_ August 16th 1272 _

_ Father cannot use his hands anymore, they have been crippled and warped by a stray curse. He thought he had seen his brother for a moment- Uncle Cadmus. And his concentration slipped. _

_ It took us days to coax him out of the cloak. Only after we convinced him to join us in Peverell house did he acquiesce, something about the wards.  _

Harry stopped reading, closing the book gently and putting it down on a nearby chest.

“The three brothers. You took them. Why?” Death nods, folding his elongated hands over on his lap. 

“They took themselves. Their arrogance- greed. Antioch, the eldest. He demanded a wand to best any other. I created him one as such, Elder and thestral tail, 15”. Extremely loyal and the most powerful wand ever created. The Deathstick.”

“And? How did he die?”

“A few weeks later he killed a man in a duel over a trivial thing. He boasted about his wand, forged by Death itself, and he was murdered in his sleep for it. It was his own hubris that delivered him to me.”

“And Cadmus? What of him and the stone?”

“His own arrogance lead to his downfall. He wanted to steal from me- Ha! As if I would allow such a thing. The creatures of my realm, once you’ve passed on, cannot, and should not return. They are no longer of this world. He tried to bring his wife back, but she wouldn’t be the same living wife he once had and it drove him to the edge. He killed himself to be with her, and left his child son in the care of the third brother.”

“And the third brother? Ignotus? Did you take him too?”

“No. Not him. He asked for a cloak to hide from me, clever creature he was. In his seventies when he had lived all he cared to he came to me willingly. As old friends. Your ancestor was the truest equal of death for centuries. And you have his cloak.”

The invisibility cloak, the stone, the wand. Harry looked at Death with wide eyes.

“But, that’s only one hallow. Doesn’t the legend say you must own all three to become the Master of Death?”

“And you will. Did you think I subscribed to Time’s linear notions? Please, as if I’d give  _ him _ the satisfaction.”

\--

That evening went passed with sombre contemplation. Harry took supper in the library, a simple beef stew with dumplings that Haner presented with great pride. It seemed the elves enjoyed having someone to cook and clean for, and they looked far healthier than when he had arrived. He poured over thick tomes of Necromancy and Deathspeak, writing comparative notes on how a wizard fared (and for some reason they were all wizards, none of the authors were women, or appeared to be so) with and without Deathspeak while raising the dead. He didn’t particularly want to raise the dead, but having soldiers that couldn’t be harmed so easily did seem useful, even if grotesque and morally grey. 

Harry went to bed that night, after saying goodnight to Death, and dreamed of nothing.

\--

The morning came with a far more splendid mood and an even more splendid breakfast. Apparently, the elves had been harvesting the Peverell orchard so breakfast was a rather sweet affair with flaky, buttery croissants and apple jam. It was around eleven, so Harry decided to collect his belongings, including a soft navy outer robe, and his vault key hidden in a velvet pouch. Harry hadn’t used the floo yet in Peverell House, he hadn’t needed to. In order to stay hidden as much as possible, when not in the protection of death or his own visible image, he hadn’t left the house in a few weeks. Perhaps getting out more would be good for his soul. 

“Death,” he called out, waiting patiently for the entity to hear his call and materialise. Today death looked scarily normal, a tall man with a slim figure, bright green eyes and neat, curly hair. The only way Harry could recognise this man as Death was the slightly crazed gleam in his eye, and his teeth which were slightly too pointed to be human. “Well, you certainly look like a Potter.” Harry mused, pinching some floo powder out of the pot. Death only smiled, straightening out his dark green robes with a graceful flourish. 

“It’s not every day Magnus Potter gets reintroduced to society no?” 

“Indeed. Diagon Alley!”

—

Diagon Alley was far less busy than Harry was expecting, but was still far busier than he liked. The young Ravenclaw had to duck and weave through the large crowd to get to Gringotts, robe hood up to conceal his noticeable scar. Death, on the other hand, just walked at a slow, steady pace, it seemed that his very presence moved people out of the way, whether they realised it or not their bodies ached to escape his overwhelming aura. Harry just rolled his eyes at the dramatics. 

“Harry Potter to withdraw from vault 732,” he said quietly, placing his key upon the tall mahogany desk. The goblin, easily navigating the subtleties of secrecy, only nodded, motioning for the boy and his guardian to follow him. 

“Shall heir Black come this way then?” 

The ride to the vault was short, and Harry only stopped to gather a few handfuls of Galleons before straightening back up to exit the vault. Death had been making himself useful by subtly terrifying the Cartmaster Goblin with chilling tendrils of his magic. Goblins were a proud warrior race, but even Harry could see the well-hidden signs that it was getting to him. 

“Come on,  _ Magnus. _ ” He stressed with a quirked eyebrow. Death stopped immediately, turning to Harry with a shark-like smile. It seemed this was all it took for the Cartmaster goblin to relax, and step back into the cart.

“By all means,  _ edon tzair _ Let’s go.”

\--

“Harry!” Lewis said, clapping him on the shoulders with a broad grin. “It’s good to see you!” Harry smiled back, giving a hug to both Padma and Parvarti, and a quick clasp of hands to both Draco and Neville, the latter of whom seemed to be a tad awkward in the presence of Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson. 

“It’s good to see all of you- three weeks is far too long- I’ve almost run out of books to read!” Draco laughed at that

“Impossible- you’re such a Ravenclaw! Is this your new guardian?” Harry nodded as Death stepped forward.

“A pleasure to meet you, Heir Malfoy, I am Magnus Potter.”

“And you were just leaving weren’t you Magnus?”

“Indeed,” at that Death gave a winning smile, “My Harry is so independent, I trust he’ll be back home without my constant supervision.” Harry only rolled his eyes.

“Of course, it’s not like the muggles babied me at all anyway, I don't expect that from _you_.” 

“Home for dinner Harry, Haner is cooking your favourite tonight.”

“Of course, goodbye.” Death walked away and Padma gave him the side eye.

“He seems nice. Was it a shock finding out you had relatives on the continent?” Harry only nodded, readjusting his robes to fall just as they were tailored to.

“Definitely. But I must admit I’m better for it. Peverell house is far nicer than Privet Drive and the wards are interesting- as formidable as the Blacks.”

From around the corner came Lucius Malfoy with Cantankerous Nott. They both cut an impressive figure through the crowd, although Harry wasn’t sure if it was because of their notoriety as death eaters, or their houses’ immense power and nobility.

“Hello father,” Draco said respectfully, folding his hands in front of him in a turn of character he didn’t expect from his usually quite lively friend. Nott only nodded towards his father with a neutral expression- giving nothing away like the perfect Slytherin he seemed to be.

“Draco, Miss Parkinson, Mr Zabini and Mr Nott. I see you’ve found more… friends.” Harry walked up to the man with a carefully guarded expression, wishing that Death was here to intimidate Lucius as much as he seemed to intimidate everyone else. 

“Harry Potter, Lord Malfoy. Magic bless you.” Lucius Malfoy, with the airs and graces of every well-trained pureblood, hid his disdain quite well, but Harry could feel it regardless, and if his handshake was a little too tight neither party spoke of it. This political dance would continue, for Draco’s sake if nothing else.

“Magic pleasure you as well, Mr Potter.”

“Father, Are we are going to go collect our booklists now? I want to show Harry the new Nimbus 200, and Thorverton wanted to look at new wax stamps… so…”

“Of course Draco. Lord Nott told me that Gilderoy Lockhart is supposed to be signing books at Flourish and Blotts tomorrow, so I think it would be best to get that out of the way sooner, rather than later.”

The group of wixen ambled towards the bookshop, and Harry nodded as Padma and Lewis talked his ear off about how their parents reacted to their escapades in first year. Padma’s parents were extremely concerned, but still proud of their daughter, her sister, Parvarti, who was walking quietly to the side, also proud of her Gryffindor courage. Lewis didn’ tell his parents right away, worried that they’d stop him from being friends with Harry and the rest, but after a rather stifling conversation with Mrs and Mrs Thorverton, they seemed to be far more understanding than he assumed, though he was still banned from using his broom for two weeks. The bell chimed as they all filed into Flourish and Blotts, and Harry picked up a set of the year two booklist, and a few others for light reading at home. 

“How are you going to read all of those books over the Summer Harry?” Draco exclaimed with a slightly bemused expression.

“Well I don’t have to read them all now,” Harry explained with a smirk, “The library at home is rather… dated. Most books are from the 1600s and very few beyond that. I suppose with no Peverells around to update it, it fell to the wayside.”

“What about the Potters? Surely they would have had access through the maternal line once the male heirs ran out.”

“Could you see the Potters- A grey family- adding to a library with the dark arts in it?” He said this quietly, but Draco seemed to have gotten the message as soon as he had spoken. Perhaps the earliest Potters were darker, more grey and accepting, but the last few generations of Potters at least were really quite light-leaning. Dumbledore’s lot through and through. It didn’t matter that Dorea Potter was a Black first, she seemed far more to be grateful to be away from the Black family, seemed much more kind than the rest of them, in the small portraits Harry had seen of her over the years. 

“A lot of families are becoming more light-leaning, especially around the wizarding wars and such. Father blames Dumbledore but Mother isn’t convinced. She thinks it runs deeper than Dumbledore.” Draco picked up a book on astronomy from the shelf, lightly scanning the blurb before adding it to the growing pile in his hands. 

“Well,” Harry started, perusing the potions section with an idle eye “I’m sure the ministry is fuelling some of it, the restrictions on dark creatures are growing year on year.” The blonde only wrinkled his nose at that

“Well I can’t say I blame them, they’re all beasts.”

“Draco, the lineage of the Malfoy family includes Veela. They’re dark creatures too.”

“Oh.” Harry collected a book on healing plants and fungi, and another on the uses of snakes in potions and rituals, before heading up to the shop clerk to pay up. He’d allow Draco to stew over his own blood, but it never took the Slytherin long to bounce back, perhaps it was Malfoy pride that had him forgetting he was partly creature. Most purebloods were, in fact, and it had been legend that the original Paselmouths were part Naga, an ancient race that had died out long ago. Of course, only full-blooded Veela carried the full gifts of one, but the grey eyes and blonde hair started somewhere, and it lay with them.

Through the paned glass of the shop front, Harry could see Lord Malfoy and Lord Nott conversing quietly about something. He headed that way, noticing Pansy and Blaise waiting patiently for the rest of the party to finish up when out of nowhere he tripped, new books sprawling all over the cobbled street. He felt his glasses break on impact and he groaned internally, wishing it wouldn’t have been suspicious for him to use wandless magic (well, what little he had learned) to repair them. The now mildly injured boy began picking up his stacks of now slightly dirty books from the ground, when a gloved hand reached out to pass him his tome on healing plants. Lord Malfoy. 

“You ought to be more careful, Mr Potter,” He said with a neutral expression, as Harry straightened himself up and dusted off his robes. “Clumsiness might end you up in rather… unfortunate circumstances one of these days.”

“Indeed Mr Malfoy.” The boy said not unkindly. “Thank you for helping me pick up my belongings.” Malfoy’s lips curled up into a half sneer, but he said nothing. “I believe I should return home to have my guardian fix my glasses for me. Good day.” Harry spun on his heel and stalked away, the floo in the Leaky Cauldron would suit his purposed nicely.

\--

Harry returned to Peverell house dirty and irritated. It wasn’t like him to be so clumsy, and he was almost certain there was nothing on the floor for him to trip over. Behind the thick wards of his home, Harry waved his wand and watched his glasses mend themselves, becoming free of dust and grime. He sat in his bedroom, now free of his outer robes which he handed to Haner to be washed and pressed, sorting through his belongings, and hoping they were all salvageable from the tumble. But… no. Something wasn’t quite right with the book Malfoy had gave him. It looked from first glance like there were bent pages but when Harry opened the book to correct them, and give them an ironing charm or two, a slim black leather journal fell out, and onto his lap. Harry studied the journal curiously, knowing instantly that this was something Malfoy intended for him to have. Inscribed with gold letters on the back was the name “Tom Marvolo Riddle.” Harry opened the pages tentatively, feeling the thick vellum. This diary had to be rather old, given how yellowed it had become through time. Stricken with a morbid fascination, Harry wrote the date in the corner, but… the ink disappeared. Some sort of prank? Perhaps Lucius Malfoy was actually an amusing person; maybe he had done this on behest of his son but… no. There was darkness around this book, this was too dark to be a prank, just subtle enough to be dangerous, and from a known dangerous man. Before Harry could make his mind up about what to do, however, fresh ink in a completely different handwriting appeared upon the pages.

_ “Hello. My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. How did you come across my diary?” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Join our Discord server- it's a great place to hang out and talk things Potter- or kittens. 
> 
> \--> https://discord.gg/hc6XZrN


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How to deal with a talking book (and other social niceties)

_ “Hello. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come across my diary?” _

Harry stared at the pages as the ink refused to fade. The writing was neat and practised, that of someone clearly older than him. 

_ “Hello Tom Riddle, my name is unimportant. I don’t talk to objects that are smuggled into my belongings.”  _ His writing was slanted as he hurried to scribble out a quick missive and shut the book. Panicking slightly, he threw it across the room and threw up ward upon ward around where it sat against the wall.

“Death!” He called out with a voice a few octaves too high. Death appeared in an instant, sensing the urgency. He had clearly been in the middle of something because there was a small collection of cards in his hands, and a piece of chalk in the other.

“Young mortal, you don’t usually call me in this manner- what’s wrong?”

“A talking book.”

“A talking… book? You know they sell speaktionaries for baby wizards nowadays-”

“It said its name was Tom Riddle and Lucius Malfoy snuck it into my books this morning.”

Death grinned a most evil grin, growing thinner and taller and he looked into the direction Harry had been pointing. Without a thought, he tore down Harry’s hastily constructed wards and cradled the book like a normal person would a newborn baby.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle.” He purred, appearing like the cat that caught the canary, “I’ve waited a long time to hold a piece of you my dear, and so soon on his journey too…” The room’s temperature dropped by several degrees, and frost began to collect on the window panes. 

“Death. Do you know this Riddle character?” Harry asked, wrapping his arms around himself as he shivered from the sudden chill.

“Know him? I adore him! My little Riddle has gone the furthest in tearing his soul to pieces, trying in vain to escape my clutches yet here we are anyway. You never escape the reaper, isn’t that right Harry?” Harry just rolled his eyes, sheathing his wand as there was no longer a threat with Death present. 

“Sure thing Death. But who is he?” 

“A stray piece of Lord Voldemort, he tore his soul many times, the first when he was only a teenager. This is that first piece.”

“And it’s sentient?”

“Completely aware, and extremely dangerous. This is perhaps the biggest piece, but I cannot collect him myself. That job I have to leave to you, lest I want Fate to try her damndest to create true immortality.” Death winced at the thought and set the book down on Harry’s bed. “I can’t see how he can hurt you if you are aware. Do as you wish with him, as long as you tread carefully. Perhaps try stronger wards.”

“Oi!” Harry replied indignantly, picking up the book with his thumb and forefinger as if it were diseased. “I made those in minutes! Minutes! It’s not my fault you’re a bloody God now is it? I’m only twelve!” Death only laughed and faded from view, leaving Harry and Tom. 

Just Harry and  _ Tom. _

Harry opened the pages tentatively, instead of the blank pages, or remnants of conversation he was expecting each and every page was littered with panicked chicken scratch, screaming  **_“What did you do?”_ ** over and over. It seemed that Death holding the book was like the Goblin at Gringotts all over again, but hundreds of times worse. Harry waited for the ink to fade.

_ “That,”  _ he began to write,  _ “that was only a taste of what could happen if you cross me Tom Riddle. I have very powerful friends.”  _

_ “Indeed.” _ Tom wrote back, his handwriting only a little shaky after that ordeal.  _ “That was most shocking.” _

_ “Well, it’s not every day someone has a brush with Death hmm?”  _

_ “A fitting analogy for what it felt like, but I’m afraid I don’t know what to call you?” _

_ “You can call me Harry, Harry Peverell.” _

_ “A pleasure, Peverell. Would you like to enlighten me as to how you came across my diary now?” _

_ “Lucius Malfoy thought he could sneak it into my belongings. I can only assume he disapproves of my friendship with his son.” _

_ “Lucius… son of Abraxas Malfoy? I went to school with an Abraxas Malfoy, rather pretentious fellow but loyal as a dog when it came down to it” _

_ “Yes, he has a son, Draco Malfoy, but he doesn’t seem to be following exactly in his father’s footsteps. Perhaps he dislikes tattoos.” _

_ “Indeed? I didn’t know wizards got tattoos in the future, how bizarre.” _

_ “Apparently a lot of them were imperiused into getting them, quite the epidemic I must say. But that’s been done with for about a decade now, no more tattoos are showing up on arms or the night sky come to think of it.” _

_ “Ah, how… fortuitous that the mysterious tattooist was stopped then. Tell me Peverell, did they ever find out who did it?” _

_ “Funnily enough they did, Riddle, and he was vanquished trying to murder a toddler of all things. Quite amusing if I do say so myself, though people have practically forgotten about it now.” _

_ “Amusing indeed… How is the wizarding world these days? My memories haven’t been updated in fifty years, so I’m afraid I’ve missed out on quite a bit.” _

_ “Well, I can’t say things are that much different, but of course, Dumbledore is the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Supreme Mugwump and Chief Warlock. It’s a lot of responsibility for one man, but he’s handling it marvellously, and no one trusts anyone else but the headmaster to do it, given his track record.” _

_ “You have given me much to think about Peverell. May I be excused? This information requires much reflection, I think.” _

_ “Not at all, Riddle, take as much time as you need.” _

Closing the book, Harry smiled, it was well known how much Voldemort hated Dumbledore, and he was certain that extended to any teenage offshoots that were still hanging about even fifty years later. An emotionally charged adversary would make mistakes, and that permanently polite facade wouldn’t keep forever, he’d make sure of it.

He’d unravel Tom Riddle and use him against himself, as best he could.

\--

“It’s good to see you again Harry.” Draco said, stepping out of the large fireplace in the receiving room of Peverell House. “I was afraid my father had offended you terribly when you left early from Diagon, but then I thought you may have been in pain from the fall and didn’t want to show weakness so I thought it best to let it lie-” Harry held up his hand, signalling Draco to quit his tangent while ahead. The blonde had a tendency to rave at a mile a minute when excited, and he always seemed to be excited.

“It’s quite alright Draco, I got my robes dirty and didn’t want to tarnish the names of my houses by presenting a poor image in public, and since your house and mine aren’t allies even if we’re friends I thought it improper to ask for help- and since underage magic that blatant wouldn’t be overlooked…” Draco nodded sympathetically, completely understanding the odd social weaving the pair would have to go through, especially since the curly-haired heir was so new to the wizarding world and hadn’t established a presence in the upper echelons of society. His boy-who-lived image could only get him so far, after all. 

“Say no more, friend. Now I trust you have a quidditch set we could play? Crabbe and Goyle are brilliant beaters, but there isn’t enough of us to fill a whole team, even three a side since the girls won’t play.”

“Right this way, the quidditch pitch is wonderful, the elves did a brilliant job patching up the place as it had been left so long vacant.”

The path to the grounds was still slightly overgrown, with smooth worn stones intertwined with longer grasses that had the gall to grow through the gaps. After that, though, it opened up into a huge clearing lined with trees, with three large quidditch hoops in burnished silver. 

“Apparently, this has been here for years, though I can't see most of my ancestors using it, I think they were the scholarly types.” Draco simply smirked, setting down the broom and the large chest full of equipment to the side of the pitch.

“What a shock, that they’d all be as swotty as you.” Harry only rolled his eyes, soaking in the history of the place as he so often did.

“Oh shut up, cheeky. I even found some old snidget hunting gear in the loft the other day, apparently the elves had no idea we didn’t use snidgets anymore, so kept it in pristine condition in case the ‘master needed it’.”

“That’s got to be a good few hundred years old then! It would fetch a nice sack of gold on the antique market if you sold it. I knew a few people that collect Quidditch antiques.” Harry only shrugged, mounting his broom to do a few warm up laps.

“It’s worth looking into I suppose, but what would be even better is if you could keep track of how many times you’ll lose to Ravenclaw’s seeker before lunch!”

It was nice to be a child for once, especially with his best friend.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected visitor, and the train ride back home

_ “How are you, my child?” Magic’s soft voice was always a comfort to Harry, and he melted into her light embrace instantly. _

_ “I’m alright mother, we found one of his pieces the other day, or rather Lucius Malfoy gave it to me. I’m not sure he actually knew what it was, other than a dark artifact of course.” Magic’s usually pleasant features twisted into a worried frown. _

_ “The diary?” _

_ “Yes.” _

_ “Have you destroyed it?” _

_ “No, not yet anyway. Death said that we should wait until we have all of them together. He’s not sure if He will know if we destroy them, he should, but he’s made so many that there isn’t much of him left intact.” Magic ran her hand over the ravenclaw’s tight curls, sighing lightly at the news. _

_ “I don’t like how much influence Death has over you. My brother has a tendency to lead wizards astray.” _

_ “Like the Peverells?” _

_ “Exactly like the Peverell brothers. He relishes in the destruction of man, especially through their own devices, much like young Tom Riddle, who destroyed the best parts of himself in pursuit of immortality.” Harry appeared pensive for the moment, but he knew Death, trusted him. Death always said their paths were intertwined; he was Death’s future master. But what if Magic didn’t know that? He was Magic’s chosen first, Death’s only as a secondary. Perhaps Death didn’t want Magic to know about his future, she certainly wouldn’t like it. _

_ “I’ll be careful, I promise.” _

_ “That’s all I can ask aye? You will grow whether I like it or not, I just worry.” In that moment, Harry could see the fragility Magic tried her best to keep hidden away. _

_ “I worry about you too, mama.” Magic nodded, with a thin smile. _

_ “You will fix everything my ward, my chosen, we have foreseen it.” _

\--

It was the last day of August already, and although the leaves had yet to change on the trees, Harry could feel the cooler winds on their way down from the north. There wasn’t much left to do before he returned to Hogwarts for his second year, but he had put off packing his belongings until the last minute, unsure of what books he wanted to bring. He couldn’t bring the whole library with him, but the dark books he had been reading all summer were a far cry from even the darkest books in the restricted section at school. Perhaps he would have to come back over Christmas, if nothing else than to find more old books to read. Harry raised his wand, willing all his clothes to fold themselves and fly into his magically expanded trunk. Then came the books, quills and rolls of parchment, forming a long line around his room before all jumping in. He had charmed his trunk to automatically sort each item into the correct place in the trunk, but for now instead of the living space he had occupied for several years, it was slowly but surely becoming a library, and Harry didn’t mind.

Pop!

A loud sound made Harry whirl around, the spell he had been performing stopping dead in its tracks. Several items fell to the floor, including an ink pot that spilled all over the antique persian rug. By the doorway of his room was a small house elf, lying on the floor, wrapped in a dirty loincloth that was smoking slightly. In fact, its whole body was slightly charred. Harry wrinkled his nose, poking the unconscious elf with the tip of his wand. Cooked elf didn’t smell very good, but that wasn’t the most pressing matter. How did the elf get through the wards?

“Incarcerous.” Harry muttered, before levitating the elf onto a lone chair by his desk. Perhaps the elf was sent here by an enemy, Dumbledore, perhaps. Or maybe any other of the Pureblood houses that still loathed him for the downfall of their dark master. “Ennervate!”

The elf wriggled inside its bonds, wide eyed and frantic. “How did you get inside the wards?” The ravenclaw demanded, a grim expression cemented onto his features.

“Dobby came to warn Harry Potter! Harry Potter cannot return to Hogwarts!” The elf seemed sincere in its message, but Dobby wouldn’t be the first elf to lie to an enemy wizard, and he certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“Haner, fetch some veritaserum please. There should be a small vial in the Master Study.” With a small pop, much more controlled than the apparition that heralded the arrival of Dobby, Haner arrived with the potion, and disappeared again, just as fast. Harry uncorked the vial and dropped some into the wild elf’s mouth, who stopped struggling as soon as the potion took effect.

“What is your name, elf.”

“I is being called Dobby.”

“Who sent you?”

“Dobby sent himself. Dobby defied his own master he did!”

“Who is your master?”

“Dobby cannot say.”

“Are you under oath, Dobby?” Dobby nodded energetically, it seemed the oath prevented verbal acknowledgement of its existence, but the non verbal was good enough for now.

“Why musn’t I return to Hogwarts?”

“Master Harry Potter will be in terrible danger!”

“Who’s putting me in danger?”

“Dobby cannot say.” Harry cursed quietly, before seeing the innocent looking diary still sitting, warded, on his desk.

“Does it involve a diary?” Dobby blinked rapidly, but when he tried to speak, no sound came out. It seemed this oath was particularly strict.

“That is enough. Dobby, as you can tell I am perfectly safe. I know the dangers this artefact possesses and can clearly look after myself. Finite!” The ropes that had bound the elf came free, but Dobby didn’t move from his spot on the chair.

“Haner!” with a small pop, Harry’s elf appeared once again, bowing low towards his master. “Please look after our… guest. Once the veritaserum leaves his system you may escort him through the wards, Merlin knows he wouldn’t survive a second run in with them.”

“Yes Master Harry.” and with another pop, they were gone. 

Harry sighed, looking at the dark blue stain on his favourite rug. Even with magic, it just wouldn’t be the same.

\--

Platform nine and three quarters was as busy and bustling as ever. Silvery smoke filled the air from the vermillion engine of the Hogwarts express and Harry, dressed in simple purple robes, had to fight through the crowd of students and parents tearily parting ways to get to the train. Next to him was Death, as tall and imposing as ever. Today, his frame was thinner and taller, with a gaunt oval face. 

“Are you prepared for another year at Hogwarts?” Death was quiet but Harry heard him perfectly anyway, his voice seemed to carry even though it wasn’t much above a whisper.

“I suppose I am, but I can’t help but feel it doesn’t matter how much I prepare- things just seem to happen at that school.” Death only chuckled in response, his duty as Harry’s false guardian being fulfilled. When Harry turned around to respond to Death’s laughter, he had already disappeared. No matter to Harry though, he had a large group of friends to greet, and a diary to torment.

Harry wandered along the train carriages, searching for his group of Ravenclaws and Slytherins. He was sure they were already waiting for him, as the only reason he was held up was because of the additional enchantments he had put on Riddle’s diary- he just couldn’t trust the black magic within to not find a way out without serious protections. It seemed though, that Padma, Hermione and Lewis had already found each other, and were eagerly catching up on their respective summers.

“Hullo guys,” Harry said, shutting the compartment door behind him and sitting next to Hermione. She already had a new book out, ‘Wandering with Werewolves’ and was already halfway through it despite the two weeks at most that the booklist had been announced.

“Hullo Harry!” Padma exclaimed, clapping her hands with delight. “It’s a terrible pity that we didn’t see each other that much over the summer hols, I trust you’re well?”

“Quite. I spent most of the holidays reading- there are all sorts of rare books available at Peverell House, and good company in Ouroboros.” Ouroboros hissed pleasantly from inside Harry’s shirt. The young wizard had taken to shrinking him down while carrying him, as he was simply getting too large to be inconspicuous to the general public. Ouro, who found it rather uncomfortable, tolerated it for Harry’s sake. “How was your summer?”

“Oh it was lovely. Myself, Parvarti and our parents spent most of it in India with our grandmother, celebrating  Jhulan Yatra with a huge ball in Krishna’s honour!” Harry could almost see the brilliantly coloured saris and splendid music as Padma twirled around a grand ballroom. It was a wonderful image.

“And you, Lewis?” Lewis blushed slightly, having been staring out the window as the train began to leave the station.

“Ah, nothing special. My family visited some relatives all over England and spent most of the summer in our Brighton beach house. It was nice but nothing particularly fancy.”

“That does sound nice anyway,” Harry said gently “I would have much preferred to spend time at the beach but my guardian dislikes unfiltered sunlight. He says it was from a curse he received as a teenager- but I like to think it’s because he’s actually a vampire in denial.” Hermione laughed at that.

“You do say the silliest things Harry. I spent most of the summer in France, holidaying with my cousins. I could have sworn I saw Draco there but I didn’t particularly want to run in with Mr. Malfoy. I don’t think he’d like me all that much.” Hermione frowned a bit, but she understood the Pureblood ideology. It didn’t mean she had to like it however. 

“I see. I don’t think Mr. Malfoy likes me that much either, if I’m honest Hermione- and I’m a halfblood.” Harry said, patting her hand.

“Speaking of Malfoys,” Padma said, shuffling the small stack of parchment that she had been going through “Where’s Draco?” Lewis turned back to the small group, now bored of staring out the window.

“I saw him board with Nott and Greengrass. I think his father is making him sit with the Slytherins on the journey down, but I’m sure he’ll make his way up to us at some point.”

He didn’t.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's something wrong with Draco Malfoy. And a new addition to Ravenclaw house piques Harry's interest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come join our discord server!
> 
> \--> https://discord.gg/tRTZNHC

“Welcome back to another lovely year at Hogwarts, and welcome for the first time to the new faces joining our school this evening!” Dumbledore said with a grand sweep of his arms. Harry though, wasn’t paying attention to the headmaster in the slightest- his gaze was fixed on a certain blonde Slytherin, who seemed to be forlornly looking down onto his empty plate. Although he was intelligent, Harry couldn’t for the life of him work out what was wrong with Draco Malfoy. “Now, I shan’t keep you long, but I’d like to introduce our new Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart!” Dumbledore gestured to a sandy blonde-haired man with powder blue robes and impossibly white teeth. He grinned madly at the audience, and Harry supposed that Lockhart assumed he appeared attractive. Looking around at the girls on his table, it was possible that he did actually appear attractive, but the young Ravenclaw could see a notice-me charm from a mile away, and if you looked closely, there was some rather poorly done human transfiguration on that smile as well. 

“I heard he’s terribly clever- Professor Lockhart!” Hermione whispered from beside Harry. Her cheeks were ruddy with a deep blush, and she was hiding a small smile behind her hand. “Order of Merlin Third Class- and he’s written all about his adventures!”

“You don’t seriously believe those things do you Hermione?” said Lewis with a frown on his face. “My mum said it’s all a load of tripe- She says that half the spells he does in those books just don’t work like that!”

“Maybe your mum is just mistaken Thorverton!” Padma said haughtily. Oh Merlin, Padma had fallen for his charms as well. “After all he’s been given one of the highest honours in Wizarding Society! I’m sure they must have checked!”

Food appeared on the table in a huge amount, and without even thinking too much about it, Harry levitated a few potatoes and a steak onto his plate. He had been practising small amounts of wandless magic at the behest of Lady Magic, and it was nice to see it pay off. He looked around discreetly, hoping nobody had noticed, since no magic was to be used in the corridors or the Great Hall, and it seemed no one had.

“That was some impressive spell work Harry Potter.” a lilting voice said from next to him. A girl, first-year no doubt, was smiling at him with cloudy eyes. Why hadn’t he noticed her before? He should have noticed her sit down.

“Thank you- I’m afraid I don’t have your name.”

“Luna Lovegood, though a lot of people call me Loony.” 

“That’s not very kind of them.”

“No, I don’t suppose it is. Daddy says it’s because they’re jealous that I can see all types of creatures they can’t. Like Wrackspurts and Blimmering Humdingers.” Harry’s interest had been piqued, so he finished the small mouthful of potatoes, all he had managed to eat so far, and raised his eyebrow at the small first year.

“What’s a Wrackspurt?” Luna smiled.

“They’re nasty little creatures that buzz about your head and make your thoughts fuzzy and confused. It’s even worse at Yuletide because they like to sleep in mistletoe. You’re lucky though, you don’t seem to have any Wrackspurts at all. That’s rather odd, actually.”

“Do people usually have Wrackspurts?”

“Oh yes, lots of the girls have them this year. I think Professor Lockhart works for them. Perhaps they’re in cahoots to take over Hogwarts by making all the students confused enough that they start wearing mistletoe. That would make the Wrackspurts ever so pleased.” Harry nodded politely, trying to process the volley of nonsense Luna had thrown at him. It was all very cryptic, but perhaps it was just the kind of thing a young girl with few friends would come up with to keep herself entertained. Death would probably know.

\--

Harry didn’t get an opportunity to speak to Draco before being escorted up to Ravenclaw Tower. He stood back while the door knocker system was demonstrated to the first years, they deserved to see the common room first, before it was cluttered with other students- and that was magic in its own right.

_ “Rarely touched but often held If you have wit, you'll use me well What am I?” _ The door knocker spoke with a soft voice.

The whole of Ravenclaw house was silent for a moment, before Davies, the Quidditch Captain cried out- “A tongue!” and the door opened silently. Everyone piled into the common room, and Harry gladly took up the large plush armchair by the fire, before pointing his wand into the grate and setting the coals alight. Usually one could simply ask a house-elf to do it, but Harry liked working his magic, it was almost like a muscle in that respect, and after a summer of just practising how he liked behind comfortable ancient wards, he was used to using spells to do all sorts of simple tasks that he hadn’t used it for before.

“I’m worried about Draco,” he said softly, allowing Ouroboros to slither off his body and stretch out in front of the warm fire. Ouroboros hadn’t taken well to being shrunk again, and he had been complaining about being far too cold in Scotland since they left the train in Hogsmeade. Phillip, who had joined them once they had all claimed chairs around the fire looked at him quizzically.

“What’s wrong with Malfoy?”

“He didn’t sit with us on the train. He had been writing me letters all summer about seeing us again at school, playing seeker’s games with me at Peverell House and he hasn’t said a word to us since we got back.” Harry fiddled with the sleeves on his Hogwarts robes, the rich black fabric caught the light of the fire slightly, as there was a small bit of charmwork- just some heating charms- woven into it.

“Do you think it might be because of us?” Hermione said quietly, pinning a stray curl behind her ear.

“What do you mean?” Padma asked, slightly defensive.

“I mean,” the muggleborn started sharply, “That we are mostly light orientated wixen, with Muggleborns and Halfbloods amongst us and perhaps Lord Malfoy took exception to that. Perhaps, Padma, he told his heir to stay away.”

“Lord Malfoy is many things but he isn’t stupid. He should know that wouldn’t stick, after all there are still several heirs and an heiress amongst us. Padma, you’re the Patil heiress correct?” Padma nodded, having been mollified by Hermione’s suggestion.

“Parvarti is still mad about it- perhaps she’ll die mad about it. But I’m the eldest by seven minutes, and we’re not magical twins so I’ll be inheriting the estate when my mother passes.”

“What about your father?” Hermione asked, confused. “Wouldn’t he still be Lord Patil?” Padma shook her head, eyes bright as she was terribly eager to discuss Indian politics.

“No, see the Patil family is purely matriarchal, in fact, my father’s last name was originally Khatri. He was only the spare, so my grandparents set up a contract for him to take our last name. My husband will do the same which is why it’s so important that I be desirable, Britain has low wixen birth rates, so if I am to marry up it would likely be an heir, who would have to marry me as at the very least an equal. It’s just… not usually done in pureblood society here.” To Hermione Granger, Indian magical society was sounding more and more fascinating by the minute. 

“Are there many matriarchal families in India?”

“Yes, though not as many as there was a century ago. There was a blood curse that affected the female lines of several prominent families, including Khatri. It kills off a lot of firstborn daughters randomly which made it much harder to produce an heiress.”

“How did you survive then?”

“Simple really. I’m not the firstborn. My brother is, Rishabh, He’s a popular duellist in the Eastern European duelling circuit, but since he’s twenty-three he doesn’t talk to his ‘baby’ sisters that much. Arse.” Hermione and Padma giggled at her description of her brother, which brought Harry out of his stupor. He smiled, before standing up and stretching his taut muscles. It was hard getting used to the draughty castle after a few months away, but he’d cope, even if it meant reapplying warming charms every two minutes.

“I’m going to bed now guys,” He spoke, which prompted both Lewis and Phillip to stand up as well. “Also, there’s a first-year girl called Luna, I think, she mentioned something to me at dinner that made me think she’s going to have a tough time of it. I don’t think she has many friends.” Hermione’s heart clenched, thinking of a bushy-haired girl crying in the bathroom, utterly friendless. “Look out for her, please.” The girls nodded, before standing up themselves and deciding to retire to their dormitories. 

\--

Lewis and Harry were waiting for the girls to come down from their dormitories so they could go to breakfast together. They were going to meet Neville by the Great Hall and then find Draco Malfoy to talk to him. They were concerned that something was wrong with the young heir, as he seemed upset at dinner tonight, even if he tried to hide it. Finally, Hermione came trotting down the stairs with an intricate bun hairdo, something Padma had done as the pair liked to do each other's hair in the mornings, followed by Padma and a few first years.

“Sorry we’re late!!" Hermione said jovially, yet still apologetic. “Padma wanted to teach a few first years the point-me spell. It definitely helped us last year.” Padma simply smiled as one of the first years, a brown-haired girl with large glasses, managed to do the spell correctly. This was why Ravenclaw house was the house of learning- everyone taught each other.

The group walked to the Great Hall chatting lightly, but each member could still feel the tension. Lewis spotted Neville by the large ornate doors of the Great Hall, already somewhat full with students, and waved. Neville waves back and fell into step with the rest of his friends.

“I’m going to speak to Draco now, privately, and hopefully get him to sit with us.” Harry said seriously (everything feels like the end of the world to a twelve-year-old, after all.) and his compatriots all nodded just as seriously before traipsing to the Ravenclaw table. Draco hadn’t entered the Great Hall, but he knew that that was because all the Slytherins got their time table in the common room no matter their year group. Professor Flitwick liked to give a show to the first years, a leftover from his years as a professional duellist, which was almost like putting on a show; and the timetables for the other years were handed out during breakfast. The first sets of Slytherins were entering the Hall now, so Harry slipped through them to spot his blonde-haired friend. Each side of Draco were Crabbe and Goyle, students that Draco hadn’t really spoken to since he became fast friends with the Ravenclaws. Pansy Parkinson, a pug-faced girl with a short, dark-haired bob, was hanging off of his arm with a smitten expression, and Theodore Nott, known for the infamy of his father, Cantakerous Nott. Nott’s mother died in mysterious circumstances, and most of the wizarding world believed in the rumours that she, Josephine Nott  née Selwyn, refused to take the dark mark, and was murdered by a wasting curse, not by dragon pox. Harry walked smoothly towards them, with a pleasant smile on his features.

“Draco! Hello Parkinson, Nott, Crabbe and Goyle.” Apart from Crabbe and Goyle, who had rather vacant expressions on their faces, the other Slytherins looked at Harry quite quizzically, Draco included. 

“What do you want Potter?” Parkinson almost spat, without any sense of decorum. Her upturned nose seemed to wrinkle in disgust as if she was smelling a particularly bad odour.

“I wanted to steal Draco for a moment to talk to him,” Harry said passively, “I believe I have something of his and just wanted to confirm it. In private.” Pansy made a face as if she was about to retaliate on Draco’s behalf, but Draco just waved her off.

“It’s fine Pansy, it’ll only take a moment. You go on to the Great Hall and I’ll catch up yeah?” Pansy nodded, before looping her arm in Theodore Nott’s and strutting down the corridor, without a sound.

Harry pulled Draco into an alcove, concern written all over his face.

“What’s going on Draco? You didn’t sit with us on the train, didn’t look at any of us through dinner- not a word!” Draco was pale, with dark bags under his eyes. His lips were drawn into a thin line that would have been comical if he didn’t look so upset. It seemed that at close quarters the glamour he had applied had failed.

“House Malfoy has entered betrothal negotiations with House Parkinson.” He said stiffly, though his hands were shaking slightly. “Father has decided that after the… debacle, last year, that a contract with Parkinson will allow him to keep me in check. Pansy has taken great pleasure in hanging off me constantly. Anything I do she’ll report to her father, who will report to mine.” Harry looked solemn and pensieve at this. A betrothal contract could be broken at any time, but that wasn’t the point. Draco couldn’t do anything until he was head of house Malfoy, and by the time that had happened they would have been married, and that was magically binding. Lest Draco wanted to lose his magic, his house, and all of his wealth, he was at the will of his father.

“I’m going to fix this. I promise. We’ll find a way to keep in contact here at school, after all, he can’t keep us separated forever, I will be head of house Black one day, and you are also a black, and so is your mother. He can ignore that for now, but as soon as I’m emancipated...”

Draco just sighed, scrubbing his face with his hands in an uncharacteristic manner, lacking decorum. Harry waved his wand and strengthened the glamour over the Slytherin’s face. Instantly, he looked refreshed, slightly jovial and bright-eyed. The young Ravenclaw knew it was a lie, but between the two of them, it would hold. For Draco’s sake, he hoped it held.

“I don’t know how I can cope with this. The Slytherins are an awful bunch, catty and always fighting for power internally. I still want to spend time with you all… but…”

“We’ll sort it Draco. As quickly as we can. And in the meantime, we’ll find a way to make Parkinson stop reporting on you to Lord Malfoy. I can be very persuasive after all.”

Draco nodded, and with a small clasp of the wrists, a traditional wizard greeting, Harry spun on his heel and walked towards the Ravenclaw table.

Draco Malfoy was his friend, and loyalty wasn’t just for Hufflepuffs.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things begin to go wrong for dear Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have a discord now! Check it out!
> 
> \---> https://discord.gg/hc6XZrN

Harry James Potter was about to fucking lose it. It had only been two weeks since term had started again, and not only were his entire group of friends at a loss of how to help Draco, they also hadn’t figured out a private place to speak to one another. But that’s not why Harry was about to lose it. Defense Against the Dark Arts was a complete and utter farce. Even that snivelling pathetic wizard Quirrel, with a dark lord on the back of his head, was a better teacher than this imbecile. They hadn’t learned anything! Honestly he felt sorry for the fifth years, who had to trust this moron to take them through their OWLS.

“So then I threw a silencing curse at the Banshee- Go on Finnegan, scream for me like the banshee would!” Seamus Finnegan did a very poor impression of a woman’s scream before Lockhart fired a clearly made up curse at the boy. Immediately Finnegan stopped screaming, but that didn’t mean the spell had worked because he had only paused in expectation of not being able to. The irish boy began to scream again to test it, only for it to be ten times loud and shatter the windows! Harry scrubbed his face in irritation, before flicking open the dangerous leather bound book of Thomas Marvolo Riddle.

_ “You don’t normally talk to me Peverell, is something the matter?” _

_ “Quite. Our least favourite headmaster- Dumbledore- has decided to hire possibly the least capable wizard on the planet to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts.” _

_ “That does sound unfortunate. Is he really that bad?” _

_ “His silencing spell only made the poor boy he practiced on scream louder.” _

_ “Oh dear. Perhaps I could teach you a thing or two, no?” _

_ “As if I’d trust you to teach me anything accurate Riddle. I think I’ll have to teach myself for the majority of this year, perhaps hire a tutor in the summer I’m not sure. After all, I’m quite capable.” _

The writing in the diary seemed to pause for a second, no doubt remembering the sheer terror it felt when the two first met. Tom still wasn’t quite sure what had happened but if anything could come close to getting your soul eaten by a dementor, that was it.

_ “Yes, I’m quite certain you’ll be fine. Does the teacher change every year for Defence? They never did when I was at school- in fact we had the same teacher for all seven years of my education, Professor Merrythought.” _

_ “Well, apparently there’s a curse on the position that Dumbledore can’t get rid of.” _

_ “Really? How intriguing.” _

_ “I’m not at all surprised you’d say that Riddle. Apparently a young Dark Lord in the sixties wanted to interview for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position. But Dumbledore knew who he was, and what he was, and refused. Before he left Hogwarts he cursed all professors of defence to be forcibly removed from the position if they don’t leave at the end of the year. Our education has suffered since.” _

_ “Even Dumbledore can’t remove it?” _

_ “Can’t, or won’t. I’m really not sure which one I’d prefer. I think it’s likely tied into the wards, after all this dark lord was the heir of slytherin. He would have a connection to the school.” _

_ “How fascinating. It is rather marvellous to think that heirs of the founders survived this long, a thousand years into the future at least.” _

_ “I’m sure you find it plenty interesting for both of us, Tom  _ **_Marvolo_ ** _ Riddle.” _

Harry shut the book with a small snap, before beginning his transfiguration homework. It was on the Gamp’s laws of transfiguration, an important- yet undeniably boring topic. Nonetheless far more interesting than listening to Lockhart prattle on about false stories in that obnoxious voice of his. No matter what Hermione or Padma said to the contrary.

_ ‘Gamp’s law of elemental transfiguration denotes what can and cannot be conjured by any capable wixen with a wand. For instance, water can be conjured via aguamenti, but food cannot. Indeed there are five exceptions to the law, things that can never be conjured, including food, love, knowledge, money and soul…”  _

“And that’s time on today’s lesson ladies and gentlemen!” Lockhart clapped jovially as he tried (and failed) to vanish the chalk markings on the blackboard at the back. With the sound of scraping chairs, Harry rolled up his parchment and slipped out of the classroom. Just down that corridor was a large statue of some Victorian politician, a minister of magic perhaps, or a member of the cabinet of his time (it wasn’t important nor particularly interesting). Behind that statue was a staircase that lead to the back of the library, just by the restricted section. Despite being a ravenclaw, known for learning, he was still a high profile student and Harry didn’t want anyone unnecessary to know about what he intended to learn. If unsavoury characters knew about his political inexperience it would completely shatter the knowledgeable and powerful visage he was carefully cultivating. If he looked and acted just like the whispers and rumours about him suggested, it would be greatly advantageous. 

Harry opened the large stone archway with a tap of his wand, as it spit him out right by the books on wards and runes- another reason why he enjoyed this particular nook of the library. After dusting himself off, because those passageways were always dusty with disuse- Harry followed the book stacks to the Political section, which was fairly dark since no students bothered to check out many books from there. Hogwarts used to have classes on political discourse, but it was shut down due to ‘low attendance’ in the sixties, so now the books just sat there, waiting to be picked up again.

The young ravenclaw sat down at the small table and picked up a book on top of the stack that he had left there from the previous day. He put his satchel down on the table, and pulled out his trust quill and inkpot.

Wait.

Something was definitely wrong.

Harry couldn’t feel any magic emanating from his back. The deep seductive magic of the diary horcrux was no longer present, or at least no longer noticeable to Harry. He pulled all the rolls of parchment and textbooks out of his bag in a hurry. Sepia pages fluttering to the floor in a rush of panic. It wasn’t there. The diary was missing.

Someone had the diary.

What should he do now? No one knows about the diary- certainly no one knows about the dangers it possesses and even more so Tom Riddle was a smooth talking individual, even without a pretty face to utilise. In a school full of children Riddle was apex predator. Where could it have gone missing? Harry thought for a moment, tugging at the curls in his hair as he tried to calm his breathing, and mentally retrace his steps. He had it in defence, that’s when he last spoke to Riddle anyway, and then he came straight here. Perhaps he had dropped it in the passageway? It was quite a squeeze after all, as over the years broken bricks and debris had built up on the floor of the passage. 

The young ravenclaw, tapped on the bricks of the archway again and lit the tip of his wand with a mumbled ‘lumos!’. Despite the disturbed rock from his recent trek through it, there was nothing out of the ordinary on the ground, and certainly no diary. 

There was also no diary in the defence corridor on the way to Lockhart’s classroom, and Harry remembered leaving with it in his bag. He always triple checked it, feeling for the dark magic to make sure it was still present and still in his control. Without the threat of Death’s magic to keep Riddle in line, anything could happen. Hogwarts was in danger.

But more importantly, someone had stolen the diary from him, purposefully.

Having stepped back into the small archway, out of sight from prying eyes, Harry called opened up his mother’s journal and called upon Death.

_ “You don’t tend to call me much during the school year, boy.” Death spoke. In the space that both was and wasn’t Death was everywhere and nowhere at once. His voice echoed around Harry, bouncing off walls that did not exist. _

_ “Someone stole the Diary, Death.” Harry spoke, lying on the floor (that wasn’t a floor) in a disgruntled heap. “I’m not really sure about what to do, the innate magic refuses any tracking or summoning spells- it could be anywhere!” _

_ “I could find it for you, perhaps.” Death said, yellow eyes coming into view. Harry perked up at this, feeling a little better about losing it if it was so easily found. _

_ “Could you really Death? I’d very much appre-” _

_ “I could find it. I know where it is right now. But I think I’d like to see what the diary can and will do. A little chaos is always fun.” _

_ “But what if it kills someone? What if he finds his way back?” _

_ “You’re asking me whether I’d be upset if a mortal died? Please Harry, son of Peverell, don’t humour me so much. These wixen are nothing but ants to be crushed by my mighty boots. I think I’d like to see them scurry about a bit first.” Harry only sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. _

_ “I almost forgot who I was talking to there. Do you have any advice at all? Or am I on my own?” _

_ “If you’re incapable of finding a diary in a castle I will be extremely disappointed. Put that brain of yours to work.” Death laughed an awful laugh and mussed up the hair on Harry’s head with a cold hand. Then, he vanished.  _

Harry, alone and at a lost, returned to the physical world, only to find his hair in a complete state of disarray, he'd need more than just a comb to fix it this time.

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry figures out how to help his friend.

“Harry, what are we going to do about Parkinson?”

It was late at night in the Ravenclaw dormitories. In the corner by the fireplace, where they usually sat, was Padma Patil and Harry Potter, writing out their charms essays by candlelight. 

“You mean the betrothal? It’s ironclad. A copy is sent to the ministry to be finalised and I had a… friend… retrieve it for me.” By friend, Harry really meant Death, who entered the ministry through a room in the ministry aptly named the ‘Death Chamber’ and copied a few legal documents on his request. 

“Instead of going through the contract, perhaps we could make it more bearable for Draco by way of persuasion?”

“...Persuasion?”

“Yes. English purebloods are terribly strict, I’m sure Pansy would love to let her hair down, of course in slytherin you can never let your guard down but with Parvarti and I…”

“Perfect pureblood young ladies spending time together, but really persuading her to help us by befriending her.”

“Of course. You are heir Black and Potter. Neville is Heir Longbottom and I heard that Bulstrode? The large girl that partners with her in potions, is a halfblood! That must mean that she won’t be shunned for spending time with Lewis either.”

“And Hermione? What about muggleborns?” Padma made a face, before scratching out half a sentence of her essay that didn’t quite make sense.

“She’s awfully clever. What about a study group? We’ll start slow, just Parvarti and I, and then we could suggest that Pansy is only using Hermione for better grades. By the time Slytherin have realised they’ve lost their hold on Draco it’ll be too late.”

“We’d have to persuade half of Slytherin not to tell.”

“Well.. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it?”

  
  


\--

  
  


“Of all the ignorant horrible things to suggest!!”

“Hermione,”

“You suggest that that nasty two faced racist bint-”

“Hermione.”

“Spreads rumours that she’s using me like some ‘mudblood grade-whore’-”

“Hermione!”

“In order to turn her around? As if rich privileged girls like that care enough to-”

“Langlock!”

Hermione stopped talking, spitting mad and red in the face. Her hair was wild and she was crackling with anger- it was a miracle Miss Pince hadn’t come round the corner and kicked them out, despite the carefully constructed privacy wards Harry had set up before telling her. 

“Hermione. I understand that this sounds awful.” Harry started, slow and calm, as if trying to approach a wild animal. “But this is for Draco. Who started off a rich privileged boy, much like Pansy.”

“It’ll only be for a little while, Hermione.” Padma said soothingly, patting her on the arm. “Just until Harry finds a way to force Lord Malfoy to call off the betrothal contract.”

“Lang Apartum. Sorry Hermione.”

“I’m still mad about you spelling me quiet you know!”

“I know, I know. But you were working yourself into quite a fit. I thought you were going to shatter an inkpot.”

Hermione shook her head, pinning her wild mane of hair back into the manageable bun Padma had taught her earlier in the week. 

“I’m sorry for being so over emotional. But there’s something about Parkinson that really pushes my buttons! She’s just always so rude!”

“And connected.” 

The three of them turned to Lewis Thorverton, who, up until this point, hadn’t said a word.

“I’m just saying,” He raised his hands in mock surrender. “She knows a lot of people, and the Parkinson family were grey in the last war. If we show her proper friendship and give her a space to relax, she might be a really good ally, as well as helping Draco.”

“Besides,” Neville piped up, having been attempting (read: failing miserably) to complete the next chapter of his potions textbook while Harry and Padma stopped a disaster. “Gran said that the old Lord Parkinson was her friend in school. Perhaps they just stayed noncommittal to Dark and Light so that they wouldn’t lose.”

“Alright then.” Hermione said, “I suppose I’m outnumbered then. What’s the plan?”

\--

Breakfast at the Slytherin table was always incredibly dull, if not for anything else than for the fact that due to the preference of the students, the food served was always bland. Delicious, yes, but it couldn’t hold a candle to the brilliant spice and colours and the meals in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff- even Gryffindor seemed to have a better time of it than Slytherin. Apart from the food, in Slytherin you always had to be cautious, watch what you say and how you act. Slytherin was the house of ambition, and that sometimes meant getting to the top by using others as a ladder. They’d destroy your reputation if they thought it would improve theirs. 

Draco moved the porridge around his bowl, completely unsatisfied and yet not hungry. Pansy Parkinson was prattling on about some sort of scandal between Russian purebloods that Draco didn’t care about, and Theodore Nott at least had the foresight to feign reading a book so her sights wouldn’t be turned on him. With a screech, however, the post owls came soaring through the windows of the Great Hall, landing haphazardly wherever there was space on the table, including a long eared brown owl, clearly one of the school’s.

_ Draco, _

_ Don’t go to class this morning. On the fifth floor charms corridor, you will be hit with a curse that will break your arm, Madam Pomfrey will heal it, but keep you in until dinner. Enclosed is a pain potion for your trouble. The spell ‘Nema Rasalas’ will destroy the writing on this letter. _

_ Hoping your problems will soon be over, _

_ H.B. _

“Nema Rasalas,” Draco muttered, performing the spell with his wand hidden in his sleeve. True to H.B’s words, the ink faded from the page, albeit splotchy in some places. He still needed some practice evidently. H.B. That was obviously Harry for anyone who knew about the Black heirship, which currently was really only the Malfoys, due to the heritage of Draco’s mother. Narcissa knew that Harry was the heir, being the only available one, through the male line. Dorea Potter, after all, was originally Dorea Black, and with Sirius’ blessing when he was born he had the strongest claim. 

“What was that letter Draco?” Pansy asked, trying to peer over to look at the parchment.

“I assume some form of prank or spell gone wrong. The page is blank.”

\--

“Oh dear, Mr Malfoy! It seemed whatever misplaced spell came flying your way shattered your whole arm. I can heal it fine, but you’ll need to stay here in the infirmary until the spell settles, in case it heals wrong.” Draco only nodded, white as a sheet and clutching his arm, the pain potion had worked, but that wasn’t for Madam Promfrey to know. He was a formidable actor after all.

“I’ll just go sit down then shall I?” Draco gave an experimental wiggle of his fingers, they didn’t move at all. Whatever spells Madam Pomfrey had used on his arm had completely immobilised it. 

\--

Charms was a fairly quiet affair until the Ravenclaws had settled in. As a join Slytherin-Ravenclaw class, Professor Flitwick greatly enjoyed it- after all the two houses were the most ambitious and best performing, usually. Pansy Parkinson sat at her desk alone, clearly waiting for Draco Malfoy to take his place next to her. Flitwick had mentioned beginning a research project into a charm of their choosing, and Draco was supposed to be her partner.

But he wasn’t here.

“Hullo Parkinson!” Padma Patil said brightly, pulling out the chair and plopping down next to the younger heiress. “I hope you don’t mind if I sit here, Harry is already paired up and so is Lewis so I thought I’d pair up with you. If you don’t have one already?” Pansy had half a mind to demand she leave so that she could partner with Draco when he finally arrived, but gaining a reputation of a loner, one that no one wanted to partner with would be disastrous for her reputation, and her father would be greatly disappointed in anything she did that tarnished House Parkinson.

“I suppose. Did you have any idea of what you wanted to research?” having a Ravenclaw for a partner would make things easier, she supposed. If she did end up with Draco she’d likely have to do all the work… this way she’d at least have someone with things in common with, and decent conversation. 

“I was thinking of doing memory charms and how they work. I’m sure we’d be able to get at least an Exceeds without performing any of them, though a forgetfulness charm can be reversed…”

“Well I don’t see why not, we could write a paper on the effects over obliviate overuse as well, and their use during the witch trials!”

As Pansy Parkinson and Padma Patil cemented their friendship over a charms project, Harry Potter-Black and his partner, Hermione Granger, watched on, while writing abstract notes about potential projects.

“What do you think Harry?”

“I think this plan will work out fine, I mean if Padma becomes friends with Pansy, I’m sure we could persuade her to let Draco get on with us, after all Padma is also his friend.”

“I meant about studying the Patronus charm.”

“Oh, of course. It sounds great to be fair Hermione, no complaints here.”

“Do you ever focus on schoolwork in class?”

“There are more pressing issues, honestly.”

“Boys!”

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samhain had come once again, and once again brought problems along with it.

Halloween crept up on Harry again much faster than he would have liked. Although living in this castle, with his friends and the scarce pictures of his parents he possessed made it easier, the ache in his chest from the intense loss of childhood couldn’t be filled with trinkets and mementos. 

There was something good about Samhain as a magical holiday, however, as Harry had finally learned the Necromantic language needed to access Death Magic, Death was going to take him through the Samhain ritual, one that would boost his power and allow him to commune with spirits. He hoped to be able to commune with his parents this evening, but his expectations were low.

This year, Harry had double potions on the 31st, the last lessons of the day. Professor Snape was far more irritable than usual, which was impressive considering his usual dour state, which led to Neville needing to partner with Hermione instead of Lewis, so she could minimise the accidents that a nervous Gryffindor could inflict. Today they were making a calming draught, which should end up a cornflower blue but it seemed that several students of the house of the brave ended up with a mint green concoction- Ron Weasley ended up with some sort of purple sludge that Snape vanished before it could burn a hole through the cauldron. Harry stirred the potion as the textbook instructed, while Padma ground the Lavender up in a mortar and pestle. It was currently a medium blue colour, so he took it off the heat and added the lavender. With a puff of smoke that instantly relaxed the pair, the potion turned cornflower blue. A perfect potion. After decanting a few bottles and labelling them for marking, Harry packed up his things, mentally checking everything off to avoid another Riddle incident (of which he still hadn’t recovered the diary).

“Potter,” Snape said with a dull intonation “Stay behind, class dismissed.”

As the class filed out of the room slowly, some shooting him pitying looks because, well, Snape hadn’t been this miserable since the last halloween, Harry shot a quizzical look at his professor. Of course, he couldn’t forget the last Samhain, where Severus Snape began to mend bridges and extend the proverbial olive branch, and last Yule too, with the book, but what else was there that he could do?

“Professor?” Professor Snape looked up from his work storing the salvagble potions correctly, he was paler than usual, quite the feat for a sun-shy man, and there were bags under his eyes.

“To my office, Potter, there are several things I’d like to discuss.”

To his surprise, there was no box of trinkets and keepsakes on Snape’s desk this time around, sure, Snape wasn’t a particularly pleasant man most of the time, but Harry’s respect for the man had only increased when he read the court records of his arrest in November, 1981. He was only a free man because of Dumbledore- he was trapped in Hogwarts because of Dumbledore.

Harry sat down in the slightly uncomfortable, yet plush chair opposite Snape’s own, waiting carefully for him to speak.

“Are things okay at home, Potter?” He asked quietly. It seemed very uncharacteristic for Snape as Harry understood him, no adult had ever paid attention to his home life before, (not that it mattered anymore, they had dealt with that issue) and it was an odd feeling to be cared for by someone who was just a man.

“Things? What do- what do you mean, professor?” This could be a ploy by Dumbledore to get back his guardianship. If Harry appeared mistreated by “Magnus Potter” then Dumbledore could swoop in and save the day.

“I knew your aunt when I was a child,” He started, just as quiet as before. “And I knew your uncle when he was a young man. They are not good people. They weren’t, anyway.”

“I don’t live there anymore.” Harry said sharply, feeling all too vulnerable with this line of questioning. Yes, it did sting when he was young, that his family didn’t love him, and yet it was bitter and painful to sleep in a boot cupboard, even for a short period of time. But Lady Magic had fixed that, hadn’t she? In the best way she could by giving him his own space, and then removing him entirely as soon as she was able. She had never failed him.

“You don’t?”

“I live with my new magical guardian, from the american branch of the Potter family. Magnus. He said I never have to live with those muggles ever again. Something Dumbledore wasn’t capable of promising me.” Snape looked at him sharply, something unreadable in his eyes. Perhaps he was finally seeing Harry for who he was for the first time.

“There is no american branch of the Potter family. You are the last Potter.” Harry smiled wryly.

“How peculiar. Perhaps you ought to meet him over Yuletide then.”

“And is,” Severus faltered for a moment, mind clearly reeling from the news “does, Magnus treat you right?”

“I quite enjoy my time at the house, there are some rather interesting potions books there that my ancestors had collected over the millenia, unfortunately for anyone else, they’re written in parseltongue.” Snape was smart, he’d been given enough breadcrumbs to figure out the rest for himself, Harry was sure, and with that assessment of the situation, he stood up, brushing the creases out of his robes and turning for the door. “Is that all professor?”

“For now, yes. I don’t know how you are trying to out fox the headmaster, but just know you are not the first to try, and you certainly won’t be the first to fail. Tread carefully .”

The boy who lived just nodded calmly, and slipped out the door.

\--

“What did Snape want to talk to you about Harry?” Padma asked, concern written into the notch in her brow. Harry rolled his eyes and grabbed a serving of baked potato. 

“Nothing overly important, he asked about the Dursleys mostly. I guess he just made an effort because he knew my mother.”

“That’s weird. I thought everyone knew that you had changed guardianship!” Hermione interjected, having been sitting with Padma in the great hall before Harry had entered.

“I guess Dumbledore wanted to keep it quiet,” Lewis said thoughtfully, “It wouldn’t look good if he no longer had control over his golden boy, would it?”

“Certainly not.” Harry grumbled. “I’ll never let him have any again. Magnus isn’t going anywhere.”

“What if something happens to your guardian though? I mean, anything can happen right?” Hermione asked worriedly- she had really come to terms with the fact that Dumbledore may have been a good man, but his interests with Harry were anything but good natured. Harry looked at Hermione, placing his hand on hers in a small display of reassurance.

“Nothing could ever happen to him. Don’t worry. Peverell house is impenetrable. You’d have to be a parselmouth to breach the wards, and you’d have to figure out where it was before any of that anyway. I did say he didn’t leave the house much right?”

\---

Peverell house. That must be where Harry Potter stayed during the holidays, Severus Snape mused to himself while sitting in his private quarters. It was really the only place that made sense. The Peverells were the last known parselmouths, apart from the Gaunts, and if there was any relation there he’d certainly be shocked. What Severus also wondered about, was exactly how the boy could speak to snakes, when his father couldn’t. Lily certainly couldn’t- she was a muggleborn after all. Unless… No. It was useless to go down that road of thought. Albus had been saying for years that the Dark Lord may have transferred a part of himself to Harry that night, perhaps speaking to snakes was part of that, perhaps not.

The question still remained.

The Peverells were renowned and feared throughout British wizarding history, powerful necromancers, inventors, snake speakers. If they ever decided to go bad no prison cell in Azkaban could hold them, for they could control Dementors if they so chose. All that knowledge at the Ravenclaw’s fingertips made him a dangerous player on the field, all the more so due to his elusive and mysterious guardian. Magnus Potter, who certainly wasn’t a Potter. Was he even real? Or a cleverly constructed ruse to ensure Potter could live on his own, unobserved? Even Severus wasn’t sure. 

But with an invitation like that, and all those Potions books, he wouldn’t be able to refuse.

\--

Samhain was an important time of year for all sorts of rituals and spellwork. The one night of the year where the veil between living and dead was the thinnest, even the ghosts seemed brighter. Tonight was the best night, according to Death, for performing his first necromantic ritual. The plan was simple, while everyone was going to the feast, Harry would feign sadness at the anniversary of his parents deaths, (and on some level he was truly mournful, but 11 years was a long time to live apart, and it wasn’t like he was idle in his ‘time of mourning anyway’) and return shortly before curfew.

Padma took charge, as she often did, promising to grab some food from the kitchens, apparently her sister knew how to get in there, so he could eat once he had come back, and giving him a fierce hug. Harry nodded, with a blank look on his face, before running off. 

‘Where to, Death?’ Harry thought, loudly. Death had told him that their connection ran deep enough that on Samhain, he could forge a permanent one. Similar to the odd way that he could contact magic, if he thought with enough effort.

‘Eager are we?’ Death said, sounding gleeful. ‘7th floor corridor, on the left there will be a portrait of some stupid man teaching trolls to dance, if you pace in front of it, thinking of a ritual room, it will appear for you.’ Harry nodded absently, following his directions to a completely empty and often disused corridor. The brackets of torches on the wall were unlit, and cold to the touch. It seemed like no one had been here of late, perfect for secret meetings, secret rituals, secrets in general, really.

Harry paced briskly in front of the portrait, thinking of a secret location with all the requirements of a ritual room- a place where no one would disturb him. The portrait in front of him seemed to melt away into a large ornate door, Harry tried the doorknob, and it opened easily. 

The room inside was a tall, square room with light coloured stone lining the floor and walls. The ceiling was arched, with a rustic looking bracket of torches that lit up immediately, filling the room with a flickering light. Harry set down his bag and brought out his materials. Inside was four black candles, a jagged stone meant for carving, and a pot of muggle ink.

‘Do you remember how to set up?’ Death asked, ‘Any mistakes will set us back a year, and it’s a year you cannot afford to lose because you forgot a brushstroke.’ Harry only scoffed.

“Of course I practiced, I won’t forget anything, just you watch!" Harry muttered, indignantly.

On the floor Harry carved a shallow circle into the soft stone. Ritual rooms were built to be carved into, the stones replaceable, once new lines were indistinguishable from old ones. In the middle of this circle, Harry carved the sign of the deathly Hallows, a sign that he would power to signify his connection to his ancestors and to death. This was a ritual only Peverells could use, as it was one that sang for blood and blood only. It would also help find his father, who, despite his light magic tendencies, was a Peverell by blood. 

To the north of the circle, Harry carved Othila and Peorth, signifying Ancestral and Hearth, to the east, Mannaz, man, and Gebo, gift, the west;Thurisaz, protection, and Inguz, love. 

To the south Harry cut his hand on the jagged rock. These runes were the most important, and would require a price to use them fairly, a price Harry had no issue in giving. The runes Dagaz, intuition, and Kaunaz, knowledge. Without these runes, Harry may not be able to come back. 

‘You know, Death, I read that this ritual would progress better with an understanding of the language of the dead. Is it necessary? I fear I’ll ruin it if I stumble on a word.’ Harry bit his lip, painting the ink into the grooves he just made. Once he stepped barefoot into the circle, he would have to complete the ritual to leave it. 

‘You won’t have an issue speaking the language of the dead, boy,’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘Do you think I’d lower myself to speak in English when we talk? Even like this? Boy, you’ve been speaking in dead-tongue for months, much like parselmouth it is the distinguishing of the two that is difficult.’ If Harry could see Death right now, he just knew he’d have a wide, smug grin on his face. 

‘Why didn’t you say anything?’

‘Everything is for a price. If I was to bestow upon you the gift of my tongue, you would have to work at it, blindly, to prove you deserved to have it.’

Harry rolled his eyes, and stepped into the circle. All at once, the four candles lit up, at each of the four directions.

“Dagaz, Kaunaz, I beseech thee, grant me the understanding to walk forth, without taking the knowledge to walk back. I honour this with the giving of my lifeblood.’ Harry cried out, facing south. The runes on the floor, a deep red, almost brown, flashed a bright gold before fading to pitch black- signifying his sacrifice had been accepted. Harry turned around, to face the north.

Everything went black.

When Harry awoke he was in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, but something was surely off. Everything was completely white.

“Hello?” He called, barely expecting a reply. To his left, a shape manifested. It was Death, in the shape of the familiar figure he had met last Yule.

“Hello Death.” Harry greeted warmly.

“You’re doing well, Son of Peverell. Usually this is the part where I demand a payment from you in order to proceed. Luckily for you, you are payment enough. Take my hand. ” Harry did so, and a brilliant gold arc flashed around their joined palms.

“Your allegiance has been recognised, Master of Death. With open arms, you, of the third, have acknowledged your place at my side. You may venture forth with my protection.” Harry smiled, shaking Death’s hand in a jovial manner, before walking out of the Great Hall and onto the grounds surrounding the school. Everything, including the trees, sky and grass were completely white, it was odd, but completely fitting. The absence of colour just made Harry, as the only colourful being there, feel far more alive. If any muggle had witnessed this place, perhaps they'd be convinced that this was Heaven. But Harry knew better. He knew this was just another in-between, just like the void in Lady Magic's book, and just like the hole in reality the resurrection stone could make in the right hands.

There! What was that?! By the Whomping Willow there were two figures, hand in hand. Harry squinted to make them out, but even with his glasses on they were too blurry. He ran towards them, ritual robes blowing in the wind of his effort.

Underneath an entirely too still whomping willow tree was Lily and James Potter.

“Hello.” He said quietly, entirely unprepared for this moment. He knew, in theory, that he could meet his parents during this ritual, but actually seeing them in the (sort of) flesh was an entirely raw moment. “Do you know me?”

“Know you?” Lily asked softly, “Know my own flesh and blood? Of course Harry, come here and hug your mum and dad!” Harry rushed towards them and enveloped them in a large embrace.

“We’re so proud of you son! A little Ravenclaw genius, with a heart of gold.”

“We couldn’t have asked for a better boy- it breaks my heart that we couldn’t have raised you ourselves.” Harry sniffled a bit, but promised he wouldn’t cry. He was twelve years old, completing necromantic feats men the age of dumbledore couldn’t even accomplish- he wouldn’t cry!

“You’re not upset with my plans?”

“Are you a dark lord?”

“No.”

“Do you intend to kill all muggles?”

“No.”

“Do you intend to bring back a balance to light and dark magic, and to make the wizarding world a better place?”

“..Yes.”

“That is all we ever fought for before, Harry. We’ll always love you”

“Are you alright in the afterlife? Death never really talks much about his realm, what’s it like?”

“It’s like the best sleep of your life, with all sorts of wild dreams.”

“It turns out that some of those dreams just happen to be the real world! We’ve been dreaming about your life this whole time!”

“So live your life, my boy, as long as you're happy, we’ll both have fantastic dreams.” Harry smiled widely at his parents’ reassuring words. He could feel this world fading, like stepping out of his mother’s journal, so he only hugged his parents tighter and tighter, until they slipped through his hands like sand.

\--

Harry awoke with a suspiciously wet face. The candles around the ritual circle had burned out, and with his toe he smudged the ink runes, allowing his exit. The young ravenclaw got dressed into his school uniform quickly, before packing up his supplies and beginning the long trek back to the Ravenclaw tower, stomach rumbling at the thought of leftover feast Padma was saving for him.

Splash!

That was odd. On the floor of the long corridor was a giant puddle of water, at least an inch deep. Had a pipe burst somewhere? Harry trudged on through the corridor, not knowing the castle nearly well enough to figure out a shortcut that wouldn’t get his feet wet, so he suffered through. Up ahead was an object hanging off an archway by a disused girl’s toilet. Some sort of prank.

Not a prank, a cat. Harry walked closer, more curious than what was good for him. Not just any cat, Filch’s cat! Harry poked it lightly with his wand, this level of rigor wasn’t possible in just a dead cat, something Death had explained in one of his lessons on ‘how to pick the best corpses to raise’. This was a petrification. Only one thing around here could do something like this, and wasn’t any ordinary killing curse.

‘The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir beware.’ the blood on the wall said in large, dripping letters. As the sounds of marching crowds of students coming back from the feast got louder and louder, Harry could only wonder:

Where in Merlin’s name had Tom Marvolo Riddle gone?

  
  


**Author's Note:**

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